No Surrender for Us
by dancingwithtime
Summary: Struggling to recover from Ron's desertion, Harry and Hermione stumble upon someone who needs their help. They make the fateful decision to suspend their long-time animosity with Draco Malfoy and take him in.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione hadn't roused herself from her stupor for days. She performed all the necessary tasks: foraging in the forest around their campsite for mushrooms and other edible plants for their sparse meals, helping Harry pack and unpack the tent each time they changed location, and researching, always researching. But Harry could tell her heart was not in it. To be honest, his was not either. He didn't know who suffered more from Ron's departure, him losing his best friend, or Hermione losing the man who was slowly becoming... more.

Harry picked up the broom that rested in one corner of the admirably spacious tent and began to sweep the rough wooden floors, the movement soothing him and allowing him to clear his thoughts and return to the problem at hand. Ron had left. He was not coming back. He could not come back even if he wanted to. The first day he and Hermione had silently agreed to stay at their campsite for an extra night, hoping against hope that Ron would recover his senses and return to them. Neither had slept very well that night: jumping at the smallest whisper in the trees or rustle in the underbrush around the tent. But Ron had not returned. They waited as long as possible the next morning, even going so far as to lower their wards for an hour before they reluctantly apparated away from the clearing.

Harry had wanted to cry. He had never thought Ron would desert him. Sure he had a temper and it was not surprising that he had stomped off after their argument. But to actually leave? To not come back? He had never imagined-.

But he understood why. Ron had made it painfully clear that Harry was not fulfilling his end of the bargain. Harry, like Ron and Hermione, was clueless as to what they were supposed to be doing. They had been wandering rather aimlessly for months now. Subsisting off of food that they had to forage from the forest or from lonely farms that they passed. Harry had told them everything he knew about horcruxes, about Voldemort's life, about Dumbledore's lessons. They had bounced ideas off each other endlessly. Repeating the same old phrases over and over again with the same arguments cropping up each time.

It did no good. They were no closer to discovering the other horcruxes then they were to destroying the one in their possession. The locket. The horrible, cold hunk of gold that seemed to invade their waking moments and their dreams as well. Some part of Harry recognized that he and Hermione were going to go mad if they did not find a way to destroy it soon. Ron had been feeling the effects more strongly than both of them and was merely acting from a subconscious form of self-preservation when he had left them.

Or so Harry tried to console himself.

Hermione stuffed the last of the tent into her beaded bag, straightened up and met Harry's eye. She gave him a nod took his arm, apparating them again away from the fourth campsite they had been at since Ron had left. Yes, she was counting. She could admit to herself that this was probably not a good practice and would not in any way help her get over Ron's betrayal, but she could not seem to stop.

Time seemed determined to torment her. Sometimes it would stagnate around her so that each second had to be forcibly wrenched out of the chasm of the universe and pushed onwards. Minutes would pass at painful speeds and nothing happened to divert her thoughts from the darkest recesses of her brain. Then there were other times when nothing seemed to be able to stop the hurricane of thoughts that pounded down on her, gusts of emotion threatening to knock her over and despair, like heavy rain on a tin roof, making itself heard.

Recently, focussing on her books had been the only possible recourse to a sane mind.

Hermione looked around at the new surroundings. She had not really been paying attention while apparating them, and glanced over at Harry, happy to see that she had managed to do so without splinching them. Thank goodness she had practiced so hard back at Hogwarts in preparation for their apparition test. She had been worried that she might mess up this new form of transportation so unique to the wizarding world and so she had spent hours practicing and researching common mistakes and ways to improve her precision. Not that she didn't research everything important that came her way, she mentally prodded herself back to the present yet again.

Harry had left her side and started erecting their wards and anti-muggle protections around their chosen campsite. _Campsite_ Hermione thought with a trace of wry humour. This was so far removed from all the camping she had ever done previously. With her parents in the summer there had been hiking and laughter and it hadn't mattered if their fire was smoking because they did not have to hide from watchful eyes. They had roasted their meals over those fires, and hot sticky marshmallows for dessert that left a wonderfully sweet taste on the tongue so often mingled with the burnt taste of ash when the marshmallow had inevitably caught fire or touched a log. Best of all had been the nights. Lying in her sleeping bag in the tent which had a removable cover over the mesh ceiling so that one could look out on the treetops and through them the stars. Sometimes they had set up camp in an open area like a grassy field and her mother had pointed out the constellations and they had made up their own constellations and the stories to go along with them. The last summer that she had gone camping with her parents had been in the summer of her fourth year. She had taken astronomy at Hogwarts by then and she knew so much more about the stars than she had as a child. Even better, she knew the wizarding constellations and the stories behind them. Tales full to the brim of mythical creatures and magical quests and heroes rewarded for their heroic deeds with a place among the stars. She had regaled her parents for hours with her stories. Now the stars provided her with some comfort. Knowing that everyone she loved, her parents in Australia, Ron and the Weasleys, her friends still at Hogwarts, could see the same stars as she. She remembered a quote she had once read by Og Mandino. "I love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars."

Hermione blinked and returned from her thoughts. There were no stars out yet although the sun was nearing the horizon, casting lengthening shadows from the trees all around them and stilling the air as though in anticipation for the passage into night. They had left their last campsite late again today; both her and Harry still out of the routine since… Ron. Harry was almost finished the charms around the campsite and Hermione quickly accioed the tent from inside her small beaded bag. With a flick of her wand it unrolled itself and quickly expanded. The stakes driving themselves into the corners of the tent of their own accord and the flaps covering the entrance pulling back to reveal the warm glow emitted by the lamps inside the tent that never seemed to go out or to burn anything even when knocked into the side of the tent's wall. Hermione loved magic. Sometimes the small things like the everlasting lamps inside the magically expanded tent could leave her awed. She knew Harry felt the same way after growing up with his muggle Aunt and Uncle. There were some things about magic that she would never be able to take for granted.

Harry walked over to Hermione who was lost in thought again. She had been doing that a lot in the past few days. He couldn't blame her really. If he was more of a thinking person himself he would probably have done the same. But he was not. He was an action person and so any of his tension and frustration was taken out cooking, cleaning, setting up the wards (which Hermione had let him do once she had ensured that he knew exactly how to perform each charm and even knew the theory behind them), finding food, or stomping around the tent making a nuisance of himself. Sometimes he wished desperately for his Firebolt so he could take off into the air and just fly. Feel the wind bighting his cheeks, stinging them. Twisting his hair around his head and knocking the breath from his body. He wanted to dive towards the ground as fast as the broom could take him, feel the huge rush of adrenaline that could only come with flying, and then pull up at the last second, skimming his feet against the ground before shooting back up in the air.

He felt so stifled in the still atmosphere of the tent. It felt like a library with their research books scattered over every available surface and Hermione doing a good impression of Madame Pince and shushing angrily anytime he made a sudden move. Harry knew that Hermione's volatile temper was merely her way of expressing her own dislike of the situation, but it had not helped his and Ron's state of mind in the slightest.

But since Ron was gone the full force of Hermione's crankiness had fallen on Harry. And, he acknowledged with regret, his own anger and resentment had fallen on Hermione. They both needed some sort of action. Some sort of conclusion to at least one of the things that they had been working on. But that was the problem wasn't it? They were getting nowhere and damned if Harry knew what to do next.


	2. Chapter 2: A Life in the Clearing

After discussing their plans for the evening, Harry agreed to be the one to head out into the cooling air to try to find some edible plants to supplement their meager store of tubers for the evening meal, and Hermione gratefully sunk back in her refuge of books. Harry didn't know how many old, dusty tomes Hermione had managed to fit into her beaded bag but he was pretty sure it was somewhere near endless. Every so often she would pull out a new volume that Harry swore she hadn't had the week before, and she would immerse herself in the new information, clearly hopping it could provide something that would further their quest.

Harry smiled at Hermione's bushy head bent over the latest book. Already in her own world only a few seconds after they had ended their conversation. He turned and left the tent, being careful to close the tent flap as he left. For some reason, all their knowledge of charms and potions couldn't seem to keep away the infernal mosquitoes and flies that persisted in seeking out the light and warmth spilling from the tent. You would think that a wizarding tent such as the one they had would come with some sort of fly-repellent charm wouldn't you? He bet Mrs. Weasley would have known what to do. But then, if Mrs. Weasley were here they would not be surviving on overcooked mushrooms and undercooked tubers either.

Quickening his step, Harry left the confines of the wards he had erected and began to search the undergrowth for the signs of edible plants that Hermione had shown him months ago from one of those innumerable books. Harry searched farther and farther from the campsite knowing that he would need to find something soon or go back empty handed due to the fading light and the trees casting shadows across the damp brown leaves covering the forest floor.

Dried leaves crackled underfoot, and the occasional rustling in the surrounding bushes or the branches above his head showed just how full of life the forest was. Suddenly, in the distance, there was what sounded like an explosion rocking the stillness of the air, and then, unmistakably, a scream.

A raven could be heard, disturbed from it's perch on some nearby tree, cawing loudly in warning. Harry tensed.

Another scream, and he began to run, the previously longed for adrenaline, the ability to _do_ something, pumping through his limbs. This is what he knew how to do. It didn't make a difference whether it was a group of death eaters he was running to attack, or some muggle fight, the sense of purpose was the same.

But then his thought processes caught up with him and he came skidding to a halt. If this was what he thought it was, he couldn't charge into battle alone. Who knew what the conflict was about? What if he went in wand waving and got surrounded by death eaters? Previously, this thought would never have occurred to Harry. He was a Gryffindor after all, a group renowned for their act first, think later attitude. But something about seeing Dumbledore fall off the North Tower, or Sirius fall through the veil had made an impression on Harry. He couldn't just jump into a fight impulsively anymore, that road led to death.

Harry had grown up.

He had always had responsibilities. But these ones were so much more important that any he had had before. He was one of the only three people on earth who had the knowledge that would allow them to defeat Voldemort. He was one of only two people on earth who were currently searching for Voldemort's horcruxes. And he was, according to Trelawney's prophecy, the only one who could kill Voldemort. The only one who could truly stop this madness.

And so, every nerve in his body screaming at him that he was running the wrong way, Harry turned and dashed back towards the campsite. Weeks of research and no quidditch meant he was soon gasping for breath, a cramp in his side burning painfully. But with the memory of the screams in his ears, he tried not to let his traitorous lungs slow him down. Harry quickly found the clearing where they had set up camp and muttered the charm that would let him past his own wards. Sprinting towards the tent he tore back the flaps covering the entrance.

Hermione looked up at him in alarm. "Harry! What's wrong? What happened?"

"Explosion! Screams- when I was out in the woods! It was just west- Hermione -human screams!" Harry gasped out, fighting for breath.

It was a testament to how much Hermione too had felt cooped up in the tent that she grabbed her wand without further questions and tore out of the tent after him.

They got back to where Harry had first heard the noises, and kept running. Soon there was no doubt that what Harry had heard was a wizarding battle. Multi-coloured flashes of light shot through the trees around them, explosions rocked the ground, spraying bark, dirt and fractured tree limbs. Cries marred the evening air.

Both Harry and Hermione pulled up short as they reached a break in the woods around what had once been a quite forest clearing but was now a bloodied and scarred crater.

Black capes and masks easily distinguished death eaters from the people in muggle clothing who they were fighting against. No, people was the wrong word Harry realised with a start. _Person_. There was only one person left standing. " _Expelliarmus_!" Harry caught the wand that flew out of the death eater's hand just as the remaining fighter hit the cloaked figure with a cutting curse to the chest. Then, even as he watched, the fighter was cut down by a brutal hex to the head whose effects Harry could not see but was sure were gruesome by the way the man screamed and fell to the forest floor in agony. Another masked death eater sent a quick killing curse at the prostrate man and he immediately stopped jerking.

The flash of green light had illuminated the clearing for a second and Harry could see the bodies littering the ground. There must have been six or seven of them. Three wore death eater cloaks, Harry noticed with a grim satisfaction before he turned his gaze away and shot out the first spell he could think of at the death eaters who had started to apparate away. His blasting hex hit one of the death eaters in the chest and he was catapulted away into the dimness of the trees around the clearing; definitely dead. Hermione's reducto hit another one of the death eaters who collapsed to the ground.

Harry and Hermione stood with wands outstretched, ready for another attack but it never came. Apparently these death eaters didn't care to come back to discover what had happened to the two stragglers who hadn't managed to apparate on time.

Finally lowering their wands, both Harry and Hermione ran towards the figures in muggle clothing lying prostrate on the ground. There were four of them in total; none of whom either of them recognized. 'Thank goodness' Harry couldn't help thinking, not without a feeling of guilt.

Harry was feeling for a pulse on a girl who looked to be only a few years out of Hogwarts when he heard a moan from across the clearing. He froze and glanced over at Hermione who was also staring warily towards the dark shadow that marked the body of one of the fallen Death Eaters.

"We should check the last of them for survivors before we check the Death Eaters" Harry suggested gesturing to the muggle clad bodies.

Hermione nodded and together they checked the rest of the clearing for life before moving on to the death eaters that had been taken down. There were no other survivors other than the one that had moaned.

"I… I will check on the… the living one." Hermione said with a hint of distaste in her voice. Harry couldn't blame her. He had half a mind to leave the monster in the clearing to die. Whoever it was moaning on the forest floor didn't deserve their help.

After what he and his companions had done to these poor people, he didn't deserve a life.

But could Harry really just leave him there knowing that he had been the one to cast the curse that killed him?

There had been one other time that he had given a man mercy, and Wormtail had scampered off to resurrect Lord Voldemort. Did he want to risk that happening again if they managed to save this man? Should he jeopardize the mission for the sake of a sadistic murderer?

Did the man deserve to _die_?

Harry let out a shaky breath.

Hermione walked up to the cloaked body on the ground. She noticed with detachment that it was shaking. Possibly from the cold or fright or blood loss, her rational mind thought. She glanced behind her and saw Harry trailing close behind. Her own feelings of mild disgust at the figure on the ground were mirrored in his face.

"Keep you wand at the ready" she murmured to Harry as she used her boot to roll the death eater over onto his back, exposing a long red gash across his chest and ribcage leaking blood. A dark pool had already formed on the ground and was being soaked up by the moss and leaves.

He would die within half an hour at this rate of blood loss she knew. The cut was deep but had probably been stopped by the ribs before it could hit any major arteries. First he would pass out from the blood loss and then eventually, by the time he had lost around 2/3rds of his blood he would die. Hermione's analytical thoughts came to a sudden halt. It scared her that already she could think so impartially about someone's death. Even the death of a man who had probably killed some of the people in the clearing, who had probably tried to kill some of her friends and loved ones, and who probably would try again if he was allowed to live.

"What do we do with him?" Harry's whisper snapped her out of her thoughts. He was right, they needed to do something. They could not with good conscience stand there and watch the man die.

"We will bring him back to our tent" Hermione stated with sudden determination. "I have been researching healing spells in case… in case of something like this." Understood was the unspoken 'in case one of our friends or family was in this situation'.

And, Hermione realised with a sudden jolt low in her stomach, this man might have friends and family and, even if they were also aligned with the Dark Lord's cause, they were friends and family none-the-less. The reason this whole war started was because the purebloods believed that they were better than the muggleborns. That was why they could kill people like her without any remorse; they saw her as inferior. Just another reason to save this man. It would be just another example that they were fighting for the right side. That they were doing the right thing. If they could overlook this man's beliefs and actions enough to save his life, then they would undeniably be better than the Death Eaters.

With a flick of her wand, she summoned bandages from her ever-present beaded bag and proceeded to quickly wrap his wound so that it would stymy some of the blood loss. Harry, meanwhile, conjured a stretcher from some branches on the ground nearby and floated the body onto it, his hands quavering slightly.

They both straightened up from the make-shift stretcher and looked around at the decimated clearing. Harry and Hermione shared a look before raising their wands. A few muttered spells created a large hole in the center of the clearing, levitated the bodies of the dead one-by-one and lowered them into the simple dirt whole. Their final resting place, muggleborns and Death Eaters alike.

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt for the unceremonious burial they were giving these people, but she knew the necessity of it for the moment, and it was better than- NO – that was not a thought that she would allow herself to have. There was nothing _okay_ about this whole situation, this whole war. That she was able to give these people a make-shift burial was NOT the better option. It could not be. She would not allow it.

Before the dirt closed over the make-shift grave, she summoned the personal effects of the dead and placed them in her beaded bag so that one day, when this was all over, they could find the families and tell them what happened to their loved ones. Would she even ever be able to… would she be alive by the end of the war?

Hermione pictured the families of the dead, shadowy figures in her imagination, weeping, asking details about their loved one's last moments, details that she could not provide. Maybe they were muggles, would they understand the conflict that had killed their sons and daughters? What about her parents? Would they understand what it meant when someone came to find them to tell them she was dead? Would the memory charm somehow allow them to remember their daughter after she was gone, or would it all be confusing and impossible for them to understand? Would she even have any family to cry when they heard the news?

With one last glance around the darkening clearing, Hermione levitated the stretcher and, with Harry only a step behind her, she started the long walk back to their campsite.


End file.
